i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope
by BlondeTate
Summary: "Today is not about sex. Today they're making love and they both know it and it is wonderful and terrifying at the same time." Tate and Violet on their 100th anniversary. oneshot.


_i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope_

This is what happens when Kathy is a bad girl and instead of writing_ the beginning is the end is the beginning_, she decides to write this. Now don't fret, my dears, that should be updated soon enough, alright?

And this... this is a sequel to my first Violate story,_ i'm suffocating, help me breathe again _(and if you haven't read that, go read it now because you'll need it to completely understand this one) which got many reviews and favourites and stuff, and you guys, I'm so grateful for that. 14 reviews is honestly more than I expected. Some asked for more but I honestly never planned on continuing it because I had no inspiration for a sequel. Until yesterday.

So here it is now.

Rated M for language and sexual topics.

And fluff warning. I never intended to be fluffy, kinda cheesy even, but then it happened. Oh well, we need more fluffy Violate anyway.

Oh and also, I mean no offense to anyone who likes _Twilight_. I have to admit, at some point in my life I liked it too. I don't anymore but I don't hate it either and I'm definitely not trying to make fun of anyone who's a fan. I just simply think that neither Tate nor Violet would be a huge fan of the series.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything.

* * *

It was five years later after their 50th anniversary, five years since she uttered the first small words to him in decades and if she thought she would be ready to talk to him again by now, she was wrong.

She tried, _honestly_.

She opened her mouth to speak on more than one occasions, perhaps to comment on the nice weather or on the birds she knew he liked chirping idly on a nearby tree, on anything neutral that would be a great conversation starter but each time she failed. Her mouth was open, ready to say something, anything, but her speaking ability always abandoned her in that moment and no sound ever came out. There was always something holding her back, something in the back of her mind that she couldn't ignore. And since she usually sat between his legs or in his lap sometimes, her head pressed against his chest, he never saw any of her feeble attempts at making conversation with him, unaware that the girl of his dreams was trying and failing to bring them closer to each other again.

Maybe if he knew he would've pushed her and said something to her first and maybe she would've been able to answer him then, but as it is he didn't and so she closed her mouth and gave up, deciding that she was still not ready yet and she needed more time.

The 55th year passed by and Violet was still not talking to Tate.

Maybe another five years later.

* * *

It wasn't five years, rather ten, but in the 65th year she finally felt ready to speak to him again.

Technically, she wasn't really talking with him, unless you count greeting him with quiet hellos and laughing at him after she won whatever game they were playing - something she had also picked up in the course of the last ten years, playing games with him again, along with letting him light her cigarettes again like old times - as talking, but it was a start.

A start she felt comfortable making and a start Tate was unspeakably grateful for.

And soon enough, she found herself speaking to him other words besides "_hello_" and "_you're such a loser_" - they didn't talk about big things, just small things, like the weather or the birds - and on those days when she was in a foul mood and went back to her silent, reserved self, she realized that she missed hearing his deep, beautiful voice even if she herself wasn't up to talking.

That's when she made him read to her.

Anything would suffice - old newspapers previous owners left behind, comic books they found in the attic, her favourite novels, his favourite poems or the book about the birds she never got to bring back to the library. It wasn't important what he was reading, only that he was - his voice had a soothing, calming effect on her which gradually made her feel better and forgot about her bad mood, not even bothering to hide her small smile whenever he attempted to mimic a certain character's voice.

Once, just for the hell of it, she made him read _Twilight_. Violet thought the book was ridiculous - and judging by his snarky remarks he agreed with her - but years ago, not long after the Ramos family moved out, a teenage girl with a peculiarly bad taste in everything had left her copy of the book here in her hurry to run screaming from the place and Violet thought the sheer stupidness of the book might make her forget about her encounter with her father that day (naturally Ben was butting his nose in things that wasn't his business, warning Violet for the millionth time to stay away from Tate, but when had she ever listened to that?)

She was right - hearing Tate imitate the sparkly, stalkerish vampire, Edward Cullen was the highlight of her shitty day and his sarcastic comments had helped too.

They weren't friends, she didn't think so, but slowly but surely the ice in her heart towards him had begun to melt away and she was warming up to him once again.

The winter was over and although it wasn't quite spring yet, she knew and he knew too that they were getting there.

* * *

In the 80th year she took their relationship to a new level. To a very... sexual level. Literally.

It happened fast, sudden and unexpected. The opposite of how their relationship progressed in the past few years. He didn't see it coming, he saw no differences in her behavior towards him - friendly, most of the time, then distant other times - there were no stolen touches or meaningful stares, let alone kisses. She was always very careful to keep that aspect out of their relationship, even if she knew deep down in her heart that she still loved him and after all these years and decades of loving him despite all reason, she didn't see that ever changing. But still, she knew she's nowhere near ready to be romantically involved with him again so she avoided making these kind of emotional connections just yet and made sure everything between them was simply platonic.

It worked. For a while.

Then one day she woke up and out of the blue she decided that she wasn't satisfied with fucking Travis anymore. She needed more. She needed someone else.

She needed Tate. She wanted him, _craved_ him.

The desire to kiss him again, to touch him, to feel him inside of her was so strong that it almost blew her away and she didn't want to fight him anymore. She didn't want to deny herself the pleasure she knew he could give her.

So she didn't.

After all, just because they were having sex again didn't mean there was anything romantic between the two of them. Sex could be just that. Sex.

Two friends helping each other out.

That's what she told herself.

But in reality she knew that it was so much more for him, and if she was being honest, for her too.

However, over the years she became a master at dutifully ignoring inconvenient and uncomfortable things like that so she didn't let that little problem stop her, instead she simply enjoyed all the wonderful orgasms Tate gave her and turned a blind eye to everything else.

She knew she couldn't do it forever, but a few decades of only mindless, rough and animalistic sex certainly wouldn't hurt anyone. Tate probably wanted more but he never complained and he never refused her anything she wanted and it's not like he didn't enjoy it himself.

So as long as he was giving her what she wanted and he didn't ask for more, she was happy.

* * *

And for 20 years he never asked for more.

He wanted to but he never did and she appreciated that he didn't push her more than he probably knew.

Even now, a hundred years to the day they first met, as he's sliding his hands up her leg to caress her inner thigh, he isn't asking for more.

He just kisses her like he always does, with meaning and beauty and feelings and she kisses him back the same because today she can't bring herself to ignore it all like she usually does, and when he's inside of her he moves slowly and comfortably and she almost feels like crying because of all the emotions bubbling up inside her chest.

Today is not about sex. Today, for the first time in the last 20 years, they're making love and they both know it and they can both feel the changes and it is wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

Her nails leave marks on his back when she digs them in his flesh as she comes with a soft cry and he follows after her soon, collapsing on top of her and holding her close for a moment as they both try to catch their breaths before he rolls off her. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and she knows he's preparing himself for the inevitable blow because this is when she usually tells him to leave but she surprises him and herself too when she whispers, "Stay with me. For a while."

His eyes pop open immediately and he looks at her disbelievingly, silently asking and maybe even begging her that she meant it. As an answer she gives him a small smile and he can't hold back his own, much larger grin.

They cuddle up next to each other, holding hands, much like that one time after he first told her he loved her with that beautiful heartfelt speech she could never get out of her head, not even when she wanted to, except that this time Violet is the little spoon, and rather than feeling like she's losing her mind and everything is messy and jumbled, she feels hopeful that maybe one day things will be okay again.

She doesn't know what this means to them in the immediate future, but for tonight she's not willing to give up on her hope.

"Happy anniversary, Tate."

"Happy anniversary, Violet."

Winter has long since passed but it's only now turning into spring.

Violet can't help but think that it's going to be a beautiful spring.

* * *

**And that's it, folks. Violet and Tate lived together forever and they were happy - for the most part - and everything is beautiful.**

**Yes, I'm totally pretending this is what really happened. But can you blame me?**

**Not sure what to think about this one though, I think the first one was better - angst is my thing - but what do you think?**


End file.
